Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [164]
Longstreet chewed on the cigar, said, “Maybe. I’m not sure if God is in all the places we want Him to be.”
It was an odd statement, and Lee still looked down, thought, No, He is with you too, General. He thought of Longstreet’s children, how Longstreet could not even plan the funeral. It was George Pickett, his old friend, who had made the arrangements, and Longstreet had not even attended, could not watch his children laid in the ground, and so did not hear the words of the minister, the comforting blessings, the lesson of God’s will. Lee thought, It was a mistake, he should have been there, God would have given him peace.
Lee also thought that Longstreet had come back too soon, returned to duty too quickly. But Longstreet would not speak of it, would not talk of his wife, of the experience. Instead he pulled himself into a quiet darkness. Lee felt pain for him, wanted to give him something . . . some comfort from God, show him that God would help him, but there was no opening, and so Lee knew there would always be that difference between them, a different way of seeing . . . everything, the enemy, the war.
Jackson appeared now, at a quick gallop from the same direction as Stuart. Lee thought, No, it can’t be. Then he saw the face, the sharp nose and glaring blue eyes from under a wide black hat, and yes, it was him, but . . . he was dressed in a new uniform, gold buttons shining down the front of his coat, crisp gold braiding on his sleeves, a gold braid around the wide black hat. Lee did not know what to say, thought, This is very strange.
Stuart was back, held a heaping plate of food, said loudly, “Well, General Jackson, you are a beautiful and most gallant sight this morning. Von Borcke told me it was a fine fit, but I had no idea . . . the uniform suits you most elegantly.”
Jackson did not speak, seemed embarrassed, moved toward the fire and removed his hat, saluted Lee. “Thank you, General Stuart. Your gift was appreciated. Very kind.”
Longstreet had said nothing, began to laugh, said, “General Jackson, this was a gift? Well now, was there some special occasion? I apologize for not being better informed.”
Stuart began to move about, excitedly, spilling food from the plate. “No, General, it was just . . . something I felt this army could use. We have a quite famous man in our midst. It seemed appropriate for him to dress the part.”
Jackson frowned, and Longstreet said, “Well, yes, I understand that. The papers up North are giving our good Stonewall here credit for bad weather in New England and a poor harvest in Illinois. Certainly, he should dress the part.”
Jackson put the hat back on, stared down, hiding his face, which was bright red. Lee was still speechless, had never known Jackson to look like anything other than a rugged mess.
“I must say, General,” Lee began, “the change is . . . a positive one. Yes, General Stuart, you are to be commended for your good taste. It puts the rest of us . . .” He looked down to his own simple gray coat. “Well, let us say that we had best be careful walking among the troops . . . there will be confusion as to who is in command.” It was a rare joke from Lee.
Jackson looked up, concerned, said, “Oh, certainly not, sir. Forgive me, General Stuart, but perhaps this was a mistake. I did not mean to suggest anything of my own . . . I did not wish to appear grandiose. . . .”
Longstreet was still laughing, said, “Nonsense, General. I feel today that you are the new symbol of this army—gold braid and all. You have truly inspired us. Perhaps I will go and polish my boots.”
This was very good, Lee thought, they are all in good spirits. But he knew this would go on until he stopped it, and he said, “Gentlemen, we must address the matter at hand. Please join me.” He motioned, and they moved toward a small table.
Taylor jumped ahead of them, unrolled a map, and Lee said, “General Longstreet, please show us where your troops are positioned.”
Taylor held a small piece of pencil, laid it on the map. Longstreet tossed the cigar aside and began to make short